Dare You To Move
by runningbackwards
Summary: During the war Hermione was tortured by Voldemort. She barely survives, only to discover that Draco Malfoy is now on the side against Voldemort and she must therefore be on friendly terms with him. Over time Hermione learns to heal, forgive, and even love
1. chapter uno

DISCLAIMER: I own nada…or do I?

I've never been on here before but I figured this is a good place to practice my writing. I'd appreciate comments, both good and bad. Thanks.

* * *

Tears blurred her image in the mirror, Hermione wiped them away angrily. She had learned at the hands of Voldemort that crying achieved nothing, it didn't ease the pain. Tears were powerless. Yet her newly healed body rebelled and she resorted to ignoring her natural response to sorrow as she brushed her hair and checked her clothes in the glass. She was pretty, she supposed, in a girl next door way. Her brown hair fell around her face in waves of brown, framing a fragile face with a perfect mouth, long lashes and bags under the eyes from staying up reading every night. Hermione hated those bags but books were her only escape from reality and she would not sacrifice her night's relief for a little vanity. She turned in front of the mirror, sighing. Even though she ate little to nothing her shoulders, hips and stomach still remained thicker. She was never fat but since puberty had arrived she'd had curves. Short and curvy as she was she would never be a model.

Hermione smirked at her own folly, it seemed impossible and delightful to her that her mind could still wander into the realm of envy about someone else's shape. Voldemort may have robbed her of the last vestiges of her innocence but she was still a girl. He could not take who she was though he had scarred her both emotionally and physically.

She dried her eyes and hoped that by the time her friends came to collect her she would be in control again. At least some of those who were still alive, she thought as another tear carved a path down her cheek, glinting in the sun from the hospital room window.

'Not again!' she scolded herself. She needed to get a grip. She couldn't stand another day in St Mungos but in order to leave she'd have to be something other than a blubbering mess. Gritting her teeth she stared at the white walls, willing herself to think of nothing.

A loud knock interrupted her attempt, wrenching her back to reality.

"Come In" Hermione called as she got up and started to straighten the bed covers for the hundredth time. She had to look busy; she couldn't let them see her sitting there. The door opened to reveal her two oldest friends. Harry's hair still looked disheveled as his brilliant green eyes glanced around, taking in the packed bags on the floor, the medicine bottles on the counter, and lastly Hermione herself. As he stepped into the room, Ron followed. His arm was wrapped around Fleur Delacour's waist and his red hair flamed merrily in the sunlight. Hermione smiled her first genuine smile and was pleased to discover she hadn't forgotten how to be happy. She ran over to receive a hug from them both, careful to avoid Ron's amputated shoulder; the wounds for him were still raw as well.

"I'm finally getting out of here! May I ask where I'm being brought?" She laughed, doing her best not to think of anything sad. She wanted to finally enjoy a purely joyous occasion; she hadn't had one in years. Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

"well, we're picking someone else up from the hospital too and then we're bringing you both to Hogwarts. The new year is beginning and well, we thought since…" Harry trailed off as Ron picked up the loose end of the conversation

"since you can't go home, it'd just be better to go straight to school. They've allowed us to go back and finish eighth year." Hermione stooped to pick up her bags, placing them on the bed she turned around to face the boys. Her eyes shimmered from unshed tears at the reminder of her dead parents and the rubble that remained of her home.

"Hogwarts is open again? Why did no one tell me these things when they came to visit?" Hermione knew she sounded petulant but she couldn't help it. Life had gone on without her while she was recovering and she was jealous. "Who is this person anyway? Do they go to Hogwarts too or are we going to have to drop them off on the way?" 'stay calm' she admonished herself, this is no reason to become so childish, grow up. Childhood is over; Voldemort ensured that, so just grow up.'

Harry stared valiantly at the ceiling and Ron wouldn't meet her eyes. Hermione began to feel a little nervous.

"Out with it" Hermione chuckled uncertainly "it can't be that bad."

"Well, we kind of didn't tell you something else," Harry said quietly, now staring at his feet. Fleur flicked her blond hair impatiently but since the war had left her mute she could do no more than elbow Ron in the ribs.

"Ow! Okay Fleur!" Ron's ears turned red as he faced Hermione, nervously casting his eyes from one corner of the room to the other. "since you've…been… with Voldemort" he began "and then… in the hospital… you've kind of… been out of it…" Hermione put her hands on her hips. She didn't like where this was leading and the speed at which Ron was telling it, left her more impatient than ever to get to the point. "and… you've missed the betrayal… of Voldemort… by one of his… closest… allies," Ron scratched his nose and looked helplessly at Harry

"We've tested this ally many times… with all the spells we could think of. His information did lead us to Voldemort, Hermione, and he ended up fighting him as well." Harry continued

"He's turned good we're sure of it!" Ron added and even Fleur now eyed Hermione and the door to the hallway nervously. Hermione was too shocked to even protest the fact that she had not heard of this sooner. Slowly a realization began to form and with it an image of a young man: blond, pale and sneering. She sank onto the bed, letting it settle under her weight as she forced out the question whose answer she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

"Who is it?" she asked anxiously looking at all three as they squirmed under her gaze.

"Draco" Harry muttered "Draco Malfoy"

"WHAT?" Far quicker than she had sat down Hermione found herself on her feet once more. "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FRICKING KIDDING ME!" she screamed to the room at large. She paced the floor, anger and fear warring for control. It couldn't be Malfoy! Not the one whose father had watched her being tortured, had laughed at her pain! Glaring up into her friends faces she realized she would have to control her impulse to scream, kick, and tear the room apart. She forced herself to stop, to cement her feet to the ground, and take deep breaths of air. "You're sure he's on our side?" she asked "Harry? You have to be sure."

"I'm positive Hermione." Harry looked her squarely in the face. She focused her attention on the depths of his eyes.

"OK, ok, it's going to be okay. But Jesus! Couldn't you have told me sooner?" Muttering, she hoisted her bags off the bed and turned around. 'It'll be fine, you'll be fine, he'll be fine,' she told herself. Unfortunately she wasn't so sure.


	2. Chapter dos

She stared at him, unable to staunch the flow of emotions that swamped her at the sight of her childhood nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Fear and hatred warred for her attention as piercing grey eyes stared at brown. "Ferret" she growled from between clenched teeth. Long pale hands twitched the fabric of his pants but he betrayed no other signs of distress.

"Granger" He nodded his head, staring steadily at her until she glanced swiftly towards her feet.

"Hermione!" Harry admonished. "He's good, remember? Trust me." She glanced at him in surprise. Trust, she did not know the meaning of the word. Resolutely returning her gaze to her hands, Hermione watched them robotically crumple the cotton into wrinkles.

"It's quite alright" Draco stepped in coolly as he looked at Hermione. "She doesn't know how to trust anymore." Turning to Harry and Ron he explained "Voldemort will do that," the two young men looked uncertainly back, "he will shatter your entire world until all that you are left with is yourself." He gazed once more at Hermione, understanding and compassion in his eyes.

Panicking at the possibility that they may decide to discuss her painful past and the dark lord, Hermione broke into the brief silence, "As if!" she scoffed "Come on, I may have to live with him but I'm NOT going to listen to this bullshit." She peevishly turned around, and, bags in hand, stomped down a corridor, hoping it would lead to an elevator and an exit. _What I need_, she sighed, _is an escape_. Reaching the end of the hall she walked, without glancing behind to see who followed, into the group of people conversing quietly in front of a pair of elevator doors. _What isn't fair_ she thought, frustrated, _is that he seemed to be the only one who understood. _Hermione's world was spinning, no one was the same, and all she wanted to do was cry, to curl up and exercise her right to be weak. Excusing herself for bumping into an elderly lady who's bag was emitting faint puffs of smoke, Hermione wandered into a corner. _Malfoy is the enemy, he isn't supposed to commiserate, he isn't supposed to have a clue!_ She had thought that once she left the white washed walls of St Mungo's her life would revert to the way it was. Somehow she had held on to the naïve idea that everything and everybody would be as she had left it. Voldemort had managed to punish her again, he had changed the world around her so that wherever she went she felt out of place and awkward.

She heard quiet footsteps behind her and then a worried voice filled her ears, tentative and caring. "Hermione?" Ron stepped around her to place his one hand on her shoulder. "Please don't blow up again." After a short silence in which Hermione guiltily bit her lips he began again, "he's really changed, he really has. I'm not saying Draco's not a blasted idiot, because he is." Hermione chuckled, an expression of relief filled Ron's eyes. "Hermione, he really did help us win the war." She felt guilty, she hadn't meant to blow up like that. She sighed ruefully,

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blow up but…it's Draco. I mean…I can't just forget everything…I can't…" She lapsed back into silence, hoping that Ron would understand her inability to forgive.

"Please try," he pleaded quietly. "I know this is a lot to get used to-"

"It's not just that." Hermione interrupted "I can get used to him but…I won't be civil to him…not yet…I just can't…please don't ask me to be nice. I'll deal with his presence but I can't have an entire conversation with the bastard." Ron sighed heavily as he eyed his friend. She seemed to have grown calmer and her anger had been replaced with melancholy, but he didn't want to risk anything. Draco had warned them that she was still fragile.

"Ok." Relief relaxed her shoulders and unbent her fingers from painfully tight fists. She looked around and frowned,

"Where are the others?"

"They're waiting for us outside, come on." He gestured towards the elevators but stopped, grinning. Ron reached for her arm, "I didn't even notice how many people there were, let's take the stairs." Leading her around the corner he pushed open a side door and urged Hermione onto the staircase. It's only a flight or two and then we'll be out, Ginny will probably shriek when we get to Hogwarts and she sees you. Everyone's so excited."

"Not as excited as I am," Hermione smiled back at him as she traipsed down the stairs, glad the tension was dissolving to be replaced with an atmosphere of ease and affection.

* * *

The sun shone brightly through a blue sky, illuminating the pale hair of the man walking beside her. Glancing sideways Hermione studied Draco's profile and was forced to admit that he had grown to be quite attractive. _It's amazing what a year can do to a person_ she thought and sighed.

"Anything wrong Granger?" Draco had turned to face her, searching her face for any signs of distress or despair.

"Perfectly fine Malfoy. Mind your own business." She scowled cheaply into his pale features. He simply shrugged, it seemed no matter how icy her demeanor she could not affect him. She could not make him portray even an inkling of remorse for what Voldemort and his father and his family friends had done to her. The faces of her tormentors flickered before Hermione's eyes and the scar on her back throbbed gently in time to her heart's wild beating.

The freedom must have made her tipsy for she seemed to find Malfoy attractive even through a fog of hatred and fearful memories. She could not help but notice how his shirt fit him in such a way as to reveal the muscled and scarred arms of one who has fought battles. Shifting her gaze slightly to fall on his face once more she found herself being looked back at, and she quickly turned away. She blushed, feeling guilty of some massive indiscretion. _As if looking at someone was something bad_, she thought, blushing at her girlish response.


	3. Chapter tres

If she looked hard at the chipping walls and squeaking doors Hermione could almost see Hogwarts as it once had been. Full of optimistic hope, carefree friendships _and even enemies_ she added softly, flicking her gaze briefly to the blond man strolling in front, a look of blatant disgust upon his light features. They walked through hallways where rubble lined the walls, silent sentinels witnessing the return of those who remained. Eerie stillness enveloped the people trooping through with muffled footsteps on floors of dust.

"Why are we even here?" Hermione leaned in to whisper her questioning disbelief into Harry's ear "this place is a dump." Her voice reverberated against the silence, and she looked around, fearful to be overheard, aware of an unidentified indiscretion committed. She turned her attention back to the tips of her toes only to be brought face to face with the one person whose death she would not mourn.

"Because, Granger," Draco sneered, "there is no where else to go," he gestured arrogantly to the students filtering into the Great Hall ahead of them. "This place is a glorified orphanage, a home for the parentless and the lost, as rundown as we ourselves are."

"Then why hasn't this place been cleaned up, it's possible with magic." Hermione hissed back, "or have you conveniently forgotten that you possess the ability?" She glared at the emotionless grey eyes that cut into her very soul, as if seeking for an answer amidst the wreckage of who she used to be.

Draco sighed, "because Voldemort has cursed it and we don't have anywhere else to go."

"Well then fix it; you know how, you've been on the inside." Hermione needled as grey eyes narrowed, "you know his secrets. Counteract it."

"Don't you think I would if I could?" Draco glowered, self mocking filling his voice, sorrowful hatred contorting his face. "Or do you think so little of me? Do you think that I would still protect Voldemort?" Staring up into his face, feeling the curious eyes of those without homes who trickled around them, she did not know what to say. She wanted to question him, chain him to a chair and force him to answer, but her mouth suddenly seemed to be too full, her mind too drained, to do more than wait. The silence stretched, pregnant with the foreboding possibility of a confrontation, when Hermione was accosted by a red haired fireball, screeching and screaming with unimpaired delight.

"HERMIONE!" Ginny Weasley broke the noiseless air of the room around them. Scarlet flared as wisps of hair escaped to fly about her thin, freckled visage. "You're back! You're safe! Oh my god!" Throwing herself around Hermione's neck, Ginny began to laugh. Unlike the others Ginny did not tiptoe around, bathing her in false commissary and desperate attempts at understanding. Her friend turned, watching those around her: 3 young men, frowning and silent, uncertain of the accepted reactions towards unexpected jollity. Ginny's smile slowly slid from her face, dissolving into serious intelligence, turning she hooked her arm through Hermione's and pulled her away gently.

"Come on, you're tired, let's get to bed." She nodded in the men's direction, "and ignore them, they take the world too seriously." Smiling gently she pulled Hermione along deathly hallways of past destruction, remnants of the power of Voldemort's loathing. _But the world is serious. _Hermione protested to herself, unable to put into words her amazement at Ginny's inconceivable denials_ it's not a tea party!_ The world outside of childhood's blissful ignorance was terrible, depressive, and serious enough to be deadly

They climbed rotting staircases, walked along corridors of spider webs, and passed countless paintings haphazardly placed on walls. Ginny chattered nonsensically, determinedly chasing away silence with her useless words of cheerful drivel.

Once inside the Gryffindor common room Hermione sat on one of the chairs, oblivious to any others. Her fingers traced the faded outlines on ragged upholstery as she stared in horror at what remained of her happy memories and peaceful days. Sofas stood, teetering on legs of frail mahogany, ashes were sprinkled across the carpet, shells of their former crackling warmth, and tapestries hung desperately from faded strands as the floors creaked ominously.

"Of course, once I'd heard about Pansy I simply had to ask, I mean can you belief that he got her…" Ginny fell silent as she chanced a look into Hermione's gloomy face. "Oh, I've been so stupid," Ginny chastised herself softly "you really should just tell me to shut up,my brothers do all the time; I know I talk too much." Hermione hazarded a small grin but in her present state of utter desolation it hardly seemed to matter. _I feel like I'm at a funeral_ Hermione thought as she surveyed their silent surroundings and the tearful faces of the few who had returned, _but I'm not sure for whom it's being held._

* * *

The tattered hangings fell limply in folds around her, ineptly blocking out the sight of the crumbling girls' dormitory. Hermione lay in the bed Ginny had brought her to, staring ahead in emotional turmoil as night closed in around her. Sleep evaded her frantic grasp, dancing merrily in front of her eyes, leaving her with nothing but her bitter thoughts and unbearable memories.

He had laughed a cruel, grating laugh that blunted her senses and seemed to touch her rapidly beating heart. She could still feel Voldemort's cold, damp hands on her flesh and hear the incantations of torture and pain. Hermione breathed rapidly into the heavy blackness of the world around her, caught up in recollections that grasped her tightly, unwilling to surrender to her newly redeemed body.

She saw the deathly pale man with his son's bleached hair come towards her, mouth contorted into a scornful sneer. Pain seared bones, and fried nerves as her mind screamed in helpless rage, confusion, and despair. Sweat glistened on her forehead, cooled briefly by the chill night air; fear sped her heartbeat and froze her mind. She lay paralyzed, shaking silently as tears rolled off her cheeks to leave behind salty reminders of her survival. She stared at invisible tormentors, afraid of the hours to come, afraid of herself and the terrible nightmares that arrived with the stars.

Forcing muscles to disobey instinct, Hermione swept aside the moth eaten curtains to place damp feet on cold wood. The solid reminder of the world around her, recently freed of its greatest evil, forced her breath to slow, her heart to beat steady rhythms of a natural, soothing lullaby. Carefully balancing herself on the creaking floor boards she inched her way out of the ruins of the Gryffindor tower and into the hallway beyond. Splintered walls guided her footsteps, crumpling bricks lay silent, all witnesses to a ghostly woman, struggling and fearful, winding her way amongst wreckage and regret.


	4. Chapter cuatro

I'm sorry it takes so long to update. To write these chapters I have to get emotionally involved, and I don't like feeling miserable, confused, and hurt, so it takes awhile to finish. Thanks to anyone who reviewed, please continue.

* * *

Hermione wound her way ever further along muted hallways, uncaring of where her turbulent mind led her, aware only of a desperate need to escape from the oppressive memories and the world's harsh realities. Her feet slowly numbed as she quietly wandered down deserted corridors, the chill reminded her of her own humanity, of the life still miraculously flowing through her veins. Shifting slightly to wrap her rope more tightly against her scarred body she distractedly realized how lost she was amongst Hogwarts's meandering passages. Tired and exhausted from the private battle raging within the confines of her mental prison, Hermione sought the comfort of the steady walls, cracked and cursed, broken as she herself was. Unaware of the presence of another, she quietly slid her body down into a crumpled heap of abject misery, tiny against the onslaught of existence.

"Granger?" an incredulous voice arrogantly questioned her company, "what the hell are you doing here in your pajamas?" Raising her eyes stubbornly she prepared herself to battle, perversely grateful for an argument with someone real, substantial, unlike the private demons that haunted her every agonized thought. She did not expect the jolt of physical nausea and terror to engulf her at the sight of her childhood enemy, standing above her, demanding an explanation. With terrible memories still alive against her flesh, Hermione broke out into a cold sweat as she stared up into the grey eyes of the son whose father had tortured her, had looked down upon her with the same blond hair and conceited expression. Silently she pleaded with herself, prayed that confidence would emerge from somewhere long forgotten and repressed, to engulf her once more in protective, self-righteous anger. Instead her body quivered, instantly fearful even of the night's caress, of shadows unnoticed and ghosts unseen. She stared blankly, prepared only to wordlessly await destiny's unfolding, uncertain of what to do next, aware of blood pounding and seconds dissolving, unnoticed, into the dark.

Gracefully Draco lowered himself to the ground, beyond the carefully constructed barrier of hostility, to sit sprawled upon the dusty floor. _How strange_ Hermione thought ironically, they were sitting there, survivors of terrible wrath, unable to forge a bridge of understanding, even in the forgiving black of night.

"I asked what you were doing here" the question was repeated with weary patience.

"I'm lost," she croaked, her mouth parched and her throat swollen, the past so painfully real, demanding control.

"You're lost?" Draco scoffed incredulously, "in the middle of the night?" Her mind reacted, filling with the pleasant sensation of fearless indignation and a burning hunger to fight back. Fighting was instinctual, as much a part of her soul as her thirst for knowledge, and the reason that she woke up every morning, greeted every day, determined to breathe one more breath and feel one more sensation. Hearing the mocking in his voice, aware of his distaste, she was forced to reply. She had been tortured to the brink of death's welcoming embrace, Hermione reminded herself, _I can deal with one irritating boy_.

"I couldn't sleep," she heard herself coolly reply. Arching one eyebrow in an exaggerated performance, she childishly fired back, "what's your excuse? Nobody to torment tonight?" A shift of grey hardened his features, compressed his lips, a look of pain crossed Draco's face.

"I deserve that I suppose." Hermione gazed past him into the shadows surrounding where they sat, uncomfortable with this unnaturally miserable response, both full of silent, untold tears and prayers. Unsure of how to respond, uncertain of where she belonged in this silent play of emotions, she crouched, cold and wretched, watching a young man whose pain equaled hers. "You've got to understand…" Draco stumbled uneasily upon his words, as if doubtful that what he said had any value. Gazing into a world left behind by time, he repeated himself. "You've got to understand…I tried to believe in Voldemort," he met Hermione's gaze, begging her to comprehend, to validate the reasons for which his world had crumbled into dust as he had stood, unable to stop the destruction of all he knew and loved. "I tried…but I just couldn't, not when all I ever saw was pain, terrible pain…I can't even begin to describe the screams…"

"I know…" Hermione whispered quietly into the hesitant silence created by the gulf of misunderstandings. He did not have to detail what she herself had felt, did not have to explain the cries that had been wrenched, unwilling captives, from depths she never knew existed. Silently they studied one another, noting the scars, the sorrows, the fears. He had an arrogantly aristocratic face, created by years of suitable marriages, and unblemished blood lines. Blond hair fell loosely into his face, untidy where once they had been plastered to a scalp unaware of the blunt cruelties of war. His grey eyes held the color of a stormy sea, as rugged and hostile as his moods, angry at a world transformed by those he had trusted. Handsome was the only word that seemed to define the creation she saw before her.

She had turned her gaze once more upon his well-defined upper body when Draco abruptly rose, disturbing an uneasy peace, breaking the calm silence into shards of glass ringing quietly as they fell. "Well, this was ridiculous," he commented unpleasantly from shuttered eyes. Hidden behind a wall of defiance he glared at her, forcing a hasty retreat beyond boundaries created by fear and war. "You're in the dungeon's, I should think you can find your way back," he sneered, "or am I going to have to guide you?" she shook her head, unwilling to retaliate against this unexpected change. She had glimpsed something real only to find a wall of self protection, of ingrown hatred.

He turned away from her, slipping easily into the wall of darkness, hiding himself in the blessed dark of night. A flash of blond alerted her to his faltering step, "and Granger?" he paused, "I'm sorry." Leaving a silent world of bewilderment, he rounded the corner, fading into a startling new memory, further confusing Hermione's befuddled mind.

She did not know what to make of the young man whose pain evidently ate away until he was left with only a shell, a reminder of who he was. Did he miss his old dreams as she did? _Does he cry for a future recklessly tossed aside by chance?_ Leaning her head against the damp wall, she welcomed feelings of desire, concern, and bafflement, feelings she had forgotten survived beyond the world of her own misery.


End file.
